14th October 1914, Hawaii
He was angry an angry young man, his father had been a noble and an important official in the household of Queen Lili’uokalani, but with the coming of the Americans his family had fallen on hard times. His father robbed of his dignity and dismissed from his sinecure, had died penniless, the young man had grown up poor. He had ended up working for the one of the American fruit companies, slaving away in the fields of his own land for the usurper of his birth rights. His encounters with the law had grown worse with time, eventually resulting in a 3-year prison sentence, the Judge staring down at him with contempt in his eyes as he sent him away. For the young man, the degradation in an American prison was the final straw, changing his attitudes and hardening his heart. Prison had been brutal, but not without its own code and lessons to be learnt, he responded, picking up skills not usually gained by young noblemen.
He knew the judge would walk the short distance from his home to the District Court building, he always went the same way at the same time, the streets would be busy but not so busy as to make flight impossible. The judge was ambling along without a care in the world, he didn’t seem to be burdened by his role in dispossessing so many Hawaiian people, displacing their culture and allowing parasites from America to grow fat on the lands and people of his Home.
The young man walked up behind the judge, the contrast between the frail old man and the strong young native was stark. The knife, concealed until the last instant was a fisherman’s, thin of blade but stiff and with a razor-sharp edge. The young man was experienced in its use, his contact with the judge lasted mere seconds, the knife flashing out, punching three narrow but deep holes into the old man’s back. The knifeman didn’t hesitate or pause, simply pushing on past and disappeared into a side street.
The old man crumpled to the pavement, the first person to respond thought the judge had had a heart attack, she tried to make the judge comfortable as he writhed in pain. Unable to speak through the agony of a perforated spleen, and a punctured lung. It wasn’t until nearly a minute later that another good Samaritan, attempting to assist the judge reached under his coat and recoiled in horror at the blood. The police were called, and an ambulance had already been summoned, but it was all for nothing. The judge was dead by the time the ambulance arrived, drowned his own blood on the pavement, his torment, the young man’s revenge had lasted a mere quarter of an hour.
The news spread round the island quickly, some were shocked and horrified, others thought the act that of a patriot of the old ways and wished him well. For the young man it was nothing at all, he simply dumped the knife in the sea and went back to work that afternoon. For Washington the problem was more significant, a federal judge and former governor had been killed, the assailant had not been identified but his race had been.
